genetic genius

Brother Bill rose through the retail ranks to a very respectable position as a store manager. This is no small task as he is responsible for everything related to keeping a store functioning. Even more impressive is that his store is one of the more profitable in his district. While I have troubles keeping ahead of my 3 graduate assistants, Bill is doing hiring and firing, running security, and even coordinating responses to the flooding in Cedar Rapids this summer. There is nothing in our family tree that would predict such business acumen. I suspect he takes some heat for not putting his college degree (not in business) to good use. To me he is just amazing. On top of all this he's a great dad for his four kids -- who personify the best part of what it means to be a Settlage.

While my profession sends me to conferences, Bill gets to go to regional meetings with all the other store managers. I think the purposes of the two gatherings are similar: only superficially related to the work and, for those who are bold, a chance to have fun with colleagues. In essence, they and we do the same basic work as our conference peers -- we just inhabit buildings that are located at different nodes. Apparently they do some goofy stuff: spirit building, lip synch contests, and that sort of thing. At their upcoming meeting in Milwaukee or Chicago will be a time when different districts teams will compete dressed as gangsters. Bill was not the originator of this idea but he's more than happy to go along.

I learned about all of this during a midday phone call. I was making copies for my Tuesday night class and the cell phone rings. He owes me phone calls but I was puzzled by the timing. After sharing the above circumstances, he explained that he and his buddy Vern had been unsuccessful in their search for costumes. I thought it was strange that they couldn't find something mobster-like at a thrift store in the Midwest. Turns out, he and Vern want to stand out from the others at the district party. That was where I came in: I have shipped my lobster costume to him and it should arrive a day before he leaves for the meeting. Imagine the photograph of a crowd of pseudo-mobsters — dark suits, jaunty hats, plastic machine guns — surrounding a dejected giant lobster: the guy dressed in red misinterpreted the voice mail. Apparently comic genius can cross institutional borders. Aside from my curiosity about how it will be received the other enduring question is whether Bill's outlook is due to nature or nurture.

stirring it up

On Monday evenings I have a class of 15 graduate preservice teachers in an "advanced" teaching methods course. About half are elementary education majors and the rest are future science teachers. This latter group are my advisees and were in my basic methods class last fall. This creates an interesting dynamic because it comes close to having an in-group and out-group arrangment. But we seem to be navigating it okay. As we finished class last night, I read a poem from Pablo Neruda, an excerpt of which appears below:

He or she who abandons a project before starting it,
who fail to ask questions on subjects he or she doesn’t know,
he or she who don’t reply when they are asked something they do know,
dies slowly.

~ from Pablo Neruda's "Die Slowly"

I explained as I prefaced this poem that I would also be using it with the Intro to Teaching juniors the following night. A secondary major joked that I should be careful what I was doing. By reading this poem I might create more like them. I interpreted this to mean individuals who advocate for themselves and aren't afraid to disclose their ambitions. The spirit of her comment was that I might have to suffer from additional strong-willed future teachers. My retort was that not only might that create problems for me but I would be sharing such problem-makers with my colleagues. They seemed delighted by the prospects. Not only would there be more in the pipeline like them but that the current group's spirit would leak out and soak into other classrooms beyond the ones in which I was the instructor.

Part of this shows is what happens when a teacher is explicit about the decision-making. I continue to find that when I describe the reasons, or even the thought processes, I use when thinking about teaching, it strikes a resonant chord with my students. Furthermore, when I confess to my uncertainties those are received with relief and joy. This situation also illustrates not only the power of poetry to inform and inspire but also that the use of poems can become a thread that ties together people and becomes a defining feature of ongoing conversations. If someone in my past had encouraged me to use poetry within a graduate class, I would never have believed it. It still is not a natural part of my work … but without my being fully aware, it has become a defining feature.

a set of people

Elementary math textbooks of the 1960s always began with a discussion of sets. To this day, I cannot figure out the logic that caused those post-Sputnik reformers to think that asking kids to identify the name for a set of geese or goldfish or giraffes (i.e., gaggle, school and herd) was a valuable way to enter mathematics each autumn. Yet it was so common that I recall opening the math book (maybe in fifth grade) and groaning that there was that exercise again: "A set of crows is called a ___ ." Maybe set theory was a wonderful unifying principle. Perhaps linking it to literary flourishes was viewed as clever. At least I can attest that it was memorable.

The ways we might describe a set of people reflects our regard for them. A posse or syndicate suggests an organization that is more threatening (but more purposeful) then an association or delegation. Congregations and flocks are contemplative while teams and crowds are rowdy. I suppose the way we label a group of people is further evidence that we are social beings.

At the inaugural assemblage of education professors, each department chair had been asked to offer quick summaries of the activities of their respective faculty over the summer. Grants, workshops, and so on. Some lists seemed to promote the bigger names in our small pond. Other reports seem to have been excerpted from monthly grant budget reports. One report confirmed for me that my mind inhabits a very different universe. It was reported that "a gang of Hartford teachers" had been to campus. Not a team or collection or even a group. A gang.

stuff on a shelf

There is a distinctive feel when remnants of hurricanes stroll through New England. At 9 a.m. the relative humidity is 90% (temperature 74°F and dew point 71°F). We run window air conditioners to dry the inside air. A perfect opportunity to empty files and straighten piles in the home office. It will be a chore not because I am disorganized but because I always have so many projects going on, many of which have their roots in scraps of paper and obscure journal articles. Before beginning, I viewed a day in the life and was inspired. To prove how hard this cleaning task will be, I will describe stuff on a shelf next to my desk.

1. Digital camera. It is on this shelf because last Thursday night, people rummaged through our trash (searching for treasures) and left garbage that had been in the can out on the lawn. If they had returned this week, I was going to take flash pictures and explain that I was going to sell the images to the local paper. No visitors. But the camera still sits where I could grab it.
2. Cosmos seeds. They are the fourth generation. These are great little plants because they tolerate neglect and produce happily bright blossoms. After the petals fall away they leave a brittle brown starburst consisting of oddly shaped seeds. All that is required to harvest them is to strip them off with a gentle pull. I feel like the seeds should dry before I put in an envelope until next spring. For some reason the brown seeds are drying on top of a …
3. Dissertation proposal. This document by someone else's advisee is a dissertation that is now over. It started out so well, but over time the sample size shrunk, not through attrition but because of the volume of data. The worst part was that the advisor, whose project the dissertator was researching, ended up answering more of the questions than the student during the defence. This a good example of the detritus that needs to be recycled today.
4. Lobster-shaped cookie cutter. We don’t make use cookie cutters at the holidays. We have the kind that are either round or rectangles cut out of a thick sheet. But in the event that I do need to cut something out of dough that is shaped liked a lobster, I’m all set.
5. Boat whistle. Sunday morning we took the canoe to a nearby fishing lake just to paddle around. As we were unloading from the car, a guy approached us from the Coast Guard Auxiliary. He asked to inspect our water craft, if we had life vests (we do), and whether we had a noise-making device. I thought maybe this meant I should buy an air horn in the event we overturned and couldn’t wade to shore. He provided us with two flat plastic whistles on lanyards.
6. Half-pint ilk bottle. Thick-walled glass with raised lettering that identified it as from the University of Connecticut. Apparently, this was a novelty sold in the 1970s for 75 cents. At least that’s what the yellowed newspaper clipping says that is rolled up inside. A gift from a friend who was cleaning her attic or garage.
7. A Guinness coin bank. This held a pair of pajama bottoms that my brother gave me. That he works at Kohl’s and the gift came from there is not an issue. The pj’s were stunningly ugly, far too tight and overly warm if you like to sleep under a blanket. But the container had a slot in the top and is now heavy with spare change.
8. A bowling trophy. I never won a trophy. This was a gag gift from a duckpin bowling/ surprise birthday party. The brass plaque reads “The Best Bowler With Small Balls, 2006.” It is too spectacular to put anywhere but where it now sits.
9. Old batteries. I never know what to do with these. One is a 9-volt the other AA. Do I save them to recycle next time we go to Ikea (every 12 months)? Or, as I have heard is safe, throw them out with the regular trash? Perhaps I should try to recharge them with one of two or three Radio Shack rechargers that are in the office somewhere. I know they get hot and that they can explode. But the economics, along with delaying the disposal question dilemma, is why they sit there. Today they will go in the trash. Starting now.